You Put Your Arms Around Me
by MadeOfWin35
Summary: In which Sherlock has feelings pertaining to his blogger during the Reichenbach Fall. Slash. Complete.


**Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock or the lyrics to Christina Perri's Arms.**

**Summary: In which Sherlock has feels pertaining to his blogger during the Fall. Warnings for Sentimental!Sherlock and the emotional damage caused by the Fall. SLASH. Please note this is my first attempt at writing a songfic, so if anyone has any pointers, they would be much appreciated!  
**

_I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart_

_But you came around and knocked my off the ground from the start_

Sherlock understood that sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side. Emotions were bothersome things, often misconstrued and quite unfathomable. It was why he had divorced himself from his feelings. He didn't want to take the time to analyze feelings and he didn't want anything to impede his ability to think and rationalize. He was a living, walking, breathing machine. Inhuman. Cold. Indifferent. Unfeeling. A robot.

At least he had been.

Sentiment. It was why he was about to jump off a building.

A machine can only go so long before it needs the aid of human hands.

_You put your arms around me_

_And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go_

_You put your arms around me and I'm home_

Sherlock had never needed anyone. He'd grown up being self-sufficient, been forced to because everyone thought he was a freak. It didn't help matters that he'd developed a deep disdain for those he considered intellectually inferior (which was everyone). He was a loner throughout school, the kid no one wanted to play with. He had tried to make those human connections towards those nearer his I.Q. level, but to no avail. He didn't have the social skills or empathy necessary for it. So he'd stopped trying; upon first meeting people, he deduced them, a tactic meant to scare and a tactic meant to be honest. If they couldn't handle it, then they weren't worth his time.

But John was different. Sherlock had laid bare key facts of his life (the limp, the drunkard "brother"). He hadn't run. Once the initial shock had faded, he'd called him fantastic and brilliant. Sherlock wasn't used to that. He was used to being despised, not used to the attention, the fascination with his deductions. John may have had an average mind, but he was brilliant in other ways in Sherlock's eyes.

_How many times will you _

_Let me change my mind_

_And turn around_

_I can't decide if I'll let you_

_Save my life or if I'll drown_

Sherlock couldn't fathom why John had stayed as long as he had. Part of it was necessity, but he hadn't even bothered to look for a new space despite having perhaps the most irritating flatmate in London. Sherlock woke him up at all hours of the night either playing his violin or with a deduction or some such. He pouted for days on end when there wasn't a case. He blew things up, shot the wall, left a mess, wouldn't sleep, and wouldn't eat. Oh, and never mind the fact Sherlock was almost constantly putting John's life at risk (like right now).

There were times when they'd had a row and John would grab his coat and leave the flat. Sometimes he went out drinking with Lestrade or Stamford or stayed over at his current girlfriend's house. Sherlock would rattle alone in their empty flat, which seemed much too big without John, and wonder when-or if-John was coming home. Sherlock _hated_ the fact his brain took the time to consider the scenarios. He shouldn't care; he should be completely divorced from these feelings.

One day he would lose John. One day the odds wouldn't be in his favor (how many times had that man come close to death?). Or, perhaps worse, he would meet a nice girl and settle down, have a family. Sherlock didn't want to be alone again.

_I hope that you see right through my walls_

_I hope that you catch me_

_Cause I'm already falling_

_I'll never let a love get so close_

_You put your arms around me and I'm home_

He didn't even know if he'd ever see John again, and if he did, would he ever forgive him? Would he forgive the lies and the pain and the sorrow? Sherlock knew John was tough. He would grieve for Sherlock. But he was a soldier, a fighter. He would be fine. He would survive this. And Sherlock trusted Mycroft would take care of John in his absence, would take care of Sherlock's only friend.

Now it was time for the final act. He watched a cab pull up the curb and knew it was John. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and rang him. He was about to break the man's heart.

"I'm a fake," Sherlock said, his delivery perfect. It was crucial he get this right lest he continue to endanger John's life. He allowed his emotions to show plainly on his face. "The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson and Molly. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you…that I created Moriarty for my own purposes." Lying was something that wasn't particularly difficult for Sherlock; at times it was necessary to dupe someone in order to solve a case. But lying to John proved more difficult than it should have been. He didn't want to tell him these lies. He wanted to tell him how much he meant to him, to tell him it would be alright.

_The world is coming down on me_

_And I can't find a reason to be loved_

_I never want to leave you but_

_I can't make you bleed if I'm alone_

"Ok, shut up Sherlock. Shut up. The first time we met-the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"

Sherlock felt like laughing as felt his tears start to slide down his face. He hoped John could see the tears. It would make him seem more human in the other man's eyes. He needed John to believe these lies because it meant John would be safe. When John looked back on this moment, Sherlock's despair would make his suicide seem more plausible. John was a soldier, he'd seen despair do in the strongest of men. He had to believe this was real. "Nobody could be that clever," Sherlock said.

"You could," was John's unshakable reply.

The other man's complete trust in him made his heart beat a little faster. Sentiment, he mused to himself. How many times had he endangered John's life? He believed in Sherlock with an absoluteness that was frightening. Believed in Sherlock whether he was going along with a crazy scheme he didn't fully understand or when Sherlock had a gun pointed at his head. It made Sherlock feel invincible.

_You put your arms around me _

_And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go_

_I hope that you see right through my walls_

_I hope that you catch me_

_Cause I'm already falling_

_I'll never let a love get so close_

_You put your arms around me and I'm home_

"It's a trick. Just a magic trick." _Please, please believe me,_ Sherlock thought to himself, _your life depends on it!_

John started to walk towards St. Bart's, intending to put a stop to this nonsense immediately.

_No! _Sherlock mentally screamed. "No. Stay exactly where you are," Sherlock ordered. "Don't move." He reached out a hand towards him, wanting to touch him, to hold him close, not just to give him comfort for what was about to happen, but to comfort himself. He wanted to tell him sorry for all the bother he'd put up with for Sherlock's sake; tell him sorry for the pain he was about to inflict on him. He wanted to tell him to find some nice, dull woman and settle down and have a family with her, forget about him.

He wanted to thank him for all the times he had made him feel human. John didn't usually make a big deal about many of Sherlock's quirks; he simply accepted them and moved on. He wanted to thank him for making their flat feel like a home (a concept Sherlock had never fully grasped until John had entered his life). He wanted to thank him for being there for him, for always looking out for him. He wanted to thank him for always taking the time to explain the little human things he did not grasp. He wanted to thank him for letting him be himself and never judging him for it.

Mostly though, Sherlock just wanted to tell John how much he loved him.

_I tried my best to never let you in to see the truth_

_And I've never opened up _

_I've never truly loved till_

_You put your arms around me_

_And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go_

He could see how much he was breaking John's heart as he told him this phone call was his

note. He watched the puzzle pieces click together in his brain, heard the grief in his voice.

"Goodbye, John," he said into the phone and tossed it away.

No need to drag it out any longer. He heard John scream his name. He took a breath and then fell forward. Falling was scary. It was a bit like flying and a bit like falling in love, the philosopher in him mused.

He had been falling into a self-destructive darkness before he met John, but the other man had caught him. Then, Sherlock had experienced a different kind of falling. Falling in love. Sentiment. He was dying to protect his heart.

_I hope that you see right through my walls_

_I hope that you catch me _

_Cause I'm already falling_

_I'll never let a love get so close_

_You put your arms around me and I'm home_

_You put your arms around me and I'm home_

_**Review if convenient. Thanks. :) **  
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